Back Where She Belongs(44)

“No, Joseph. Calm down. It was my father who was looking into divorce. He met with Randall Scott, not Faye.”

“Why did Faye have the number on her phone?”

“No idea. Maybe she knew Scott and asked him to take Dad as a client. What I do know is that she would never divorce you out of the blue like that.”

“You think that’s it? Abbott was divorcing Rachel? Really? That would be so great!”

“I wouldn’t say it was great, Joseph. A divorce is not great, but I’m sure you’re relieved it wasn’t Faye.”

“Yeah...that.”

“Faye wouldn’t have cheated on you, either. She would have asked you to go to marriage counseling first. She—” She stopped, realizing a possibility. “I bet I know who’s at that other number. Dial it. Put it on speaker.”

Warily he did what she asked. The message machine kicked in right away. You’ve reached the office of Dr. Eli Finch...

“He’s a psychiatrist,” she said. “Faye went to him for depression and anxiety, and he prescribed her some pills.”

Joseph’s eyes went wide. “How did you know that?”

“Her iPad had a note about picking up prescriptions, so I got them and called the doctor’s number.”

“She wasn’t having an affair? You’re sure?” She’d never seen him look so wide-eyed and happy. He’d been in agony over this, which explained his moodiness, how much he’d fidgeted whenever she asked him questions. He thought he’d disappointed Faye enough to send her into the arms of another man.

“I’m as sure as I can be.”

“Thank God.” He fell back in his chair. Gradually, the wide-open look of relief on his face changed to determination and he sat straight up and locked gazes with her. “I know you think Faye shouldn’t have married me, but I swear to you that if she wakes up, I’ll prove you wrong.”

“You don’t have to prove it. I already know I was wrong. Faye loved you. She chose you. And I had no business second-guessing her.”

“Now I need to hear Faye say that.” Abruptly, his face crumpled and he buried it in his arms on his desk and sobbed his heart out. Joseph’s love for Faye was clearer to Tara than ever. In a few minutes, once he’d collected himself, Tara offered to drive him home.

After that, she headed to Dylan’s house for supper, nervous about seeing him and what they would say to each other.

All the reasons they couldn’t sleep together again swirled in her brain, but the minute she saw his face in the doorway, she just threw her arms around him, so glad to see him, so happy to be with him after a long, difficult day.

He stiffened slightly before he returned the hug. Uh-oh. He wanted to put on the brakes. She let go and backed up. “Smells great,” she said to cover for her impulsive move, really glad she’d left her suitcase out in the car. He clearly intended them to share a supper, not a bed.

“Nothing fancy. Just spaghetti.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sure you had work you should be doing instead, so I appreciate it.” She was losing him again. She felt that twist of pain, the swirl and drop like her insides were dissolving.

To hide her reaction, she crouched to greet Duster.

“I checked Fallon’s cruiser for you,” Dylan said.

“You did?” She stood, grateful for the change of subject.

“No dents or scrapes. So he didn’t hit the car. I got him to show me the evidence. He complained it was a waste of storage and man hours, but he dumped out the boxes for me. No bumper piece.”

“Shoot. Maybe it’s still at the site. I hoped to email a photo of the bumper to the accident expert. I expect his call any time.” She tried to focus on the case and ignore her sinking heart, the lump in her throat, the way her eyes burned.

“Let’s eat, huh?” he said, leading her to the kitchen. They sat at the table, both of them awkward, it seemed. Dylan served spaghetti, set out salad bowls and garlic bread.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” she said. “I had to drive Joseph home. He was drunk.”

“What?” He put down his fork.

“I know. We had the strangest conversation....” She told him the story haltingly, her mind not on the words. Dylan seemed to be only half listening, too. “So, all that odd behavior was out of guilt.” She stopped, unable to stand it anymore, and braced her hands on the table. “You think last night was a mistake, right? That why you’re acting like this?”

“Acting like what?”

“Distant...preoccupied...uncomfortable.”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he said firmly. “It was amazing.”

“I think so, too,” she said, her heart jumping into her throat, relief pouring through her. “It was exactly what I needed.”

“That’s good. That’s what I wanted. To be what you needed. To—”

“Dylan, don’t try to tell me that was pity sex.” She grinned.

He burst out laughing. “God, no. I wanted you more than my next breath. Come here.” He got up from the table and reached for her, wrapping her into a hug. He looked at her. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Me, neither.”

“I mean there’s no future for us. We both know that.”

He was right, but it stung how swiftly he’d concluded that. He could at least express regret. “We’re on different paths,” she said.

“If we were wise, we’d stop now, before we get more involved, before either of us gets hurt.”

“Right,” she said, deeply disappointed.

“If we were wise, that is,” he repeated. His gaze deepened. “The trouble is I’m feeling more foolish by the minute. I want more time with you.”

“Me, too,” Tara said, her heart singing. “Maybe we can be together until I leave? Or if there’s a natural stopping place...”

“I like where you’re going with this.”

Was that even possible? How could it be that easy? She could get hurt. So could he.

But when Dylan lowered his mouth to kiss her, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe, kissing her like he’d die if he had to stop, she was willing to risk it. They were wiser in some ways, after all.

Dylan broke off the kiss to murmur in her ear, “I’ve got a spare toothbrush in my kit bag. New.”

“No need,” she murmured back. “My suitcase is in the car.”

He laughed a big belly laugh. “That’s my girl.”

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING at nine, Dylan watched Tara and her team enter the Ryland lobby. How she managed to look alert after making love half the night then leaving at dawn to see Faye before work was beyond him.

When he’d watched her get into her car, her hair lit by the pale orange of the rising sun, he’d had the unsettling feeling she wouldn’t be back. They’d certainly made love like it was the last time. Even as they’d agreed to be together for a while, they’d both held back. Neither wanted to get hurt or hurt the other. Maybe they’d been kidding themselves to even want to try.

He wanted a settled life in Wharton and that was the last thing Tara wanted. She couldn’t wait to escape the place. Beyond that, she seemed afraid of love. He sure as hell didn’t want to live on the razor’s edge of rejection.

Get your head in the game, he told himself as Tara approached. This was a vital business meeting. Ryland Engineering’s survival hung in the balance. He smiled politely and held out a hand for Tara to shake, one professional to another.

Her gaze flickered and her body softened, sending a charge through him. She was remembering last night, too. He almost yanked her to him and kissed her like nothing else mattered, hoping that would make it so.

Behind Tara, the Wharton team approached—Jeb Harris, Matt Sutherland and two technicians. Behind Dylan stood Victor Lansing and Dale Danvers, his Quality Assurance manager, along with two techs.

Dylan led them all toward the factory. He glanced in his father’s office. Empty again. He’d asked his father to make an appearance to show his commitment to solving the problem. There was a risk that his father would say something blunt, but Dylan had laid out the plan to him. When push came to shove, his father did the right thing.

They passed through the factory doors. A tenth the size of the Wharton plant, it rivaled Wharton in efficiency and output, in his opinion. If they were paying attention, the Wharton crew would see it was a tight operation. He hoped that would help convince them to look seriously at what had to be errors in their testing protocols.

As they walked the length of the plant, Dylan showed them where the surface-mounted components were soldered to circuit boards, the reflow ovens where the connections were sealed, and where they programmed the units, emphasizing the double checks, the extra testing they’d implemented. Harris seemed impressed. Sutherland, who’d so helpfully suggested Ryland find a better supplier, walked with his arms folded, frowning.